rHEflAPPY Princes.^ 



PS 3511 

.115 H3 

1907 



ARTHUR 

DAVISON 

FICKE 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



0D000'^031D3 




Class (P^3 51L^ 

Book __^J[: 151^^ 



Copyii^htN", 



mx 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

AND OTHER POEMS 



THE 

HAPPY PRINCESS 

AND OTHER POEMS 

By 
ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE 




Boston 

Small, Maynard ^ Company 

1907 



Copyright, I(pj 

Smallf Maynard &' Company 

Incorporated 



UQRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

AfW 8 1907 

1 Gopyrifirht Entry 
CI ASS A XXCm N6. 






Press of 

Geo. H. Ellis Co, 

Boston, U.S.A, 



^ TO EVELYN 

i 



The author wishes to thank the Editor of Scrih- 
ner's Magazine for courteous permission to re- 
print the major portion of ^^To Fancy in the 
Later Days" ; and also the Editor of Harper^ 8 
Magazine for the same kindness as to ^^ Brahma '^ 
and one of the songs from ^^The Happy Prin- 
cess.'^ 



CONTENTS 



Page 
The Happy Princess: 

Book I. The Lyre 1 

Book II. The Emerald Gate 9 

Book III. The Roofs of the City 19 

Book IV. The Eldest Princess 29 

BookV. The Singer 42 

Poems : 

To Fancy in the Later Days 55 

To Felicia 61 

ToAldebaran 62 

Mad Song 65 

Italian Fantasy 67 

The Return to Avon 77 

To Sleep 80 

Pilgrim Verses : 

The Dreamers of Dzushi 83 

The Beloved 89 

The House of the Potter 90 

Atlse 98 

Muramadzu 101 

The Poet Yoshi to his Songs 102 

Kobo Daishi's Fire 103 

Before the Buddha 105 

Buddha at Nadika 106 

The Old Call 109 

On a Persian Tile 112 

The Devil Dancers 114 

The City of Amber 117 

The Wild Duck 119 

Brahma « 121 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

A Romance 



Book I 

THE LYEE 

In this unquiet, greatly-forging day, 
What heart shall have a musing hour to stay 
The labor of its striving, or forget 
A little while the goal on which is set 
The Spirit's passion ? Will some listener bring 
An ear subdued to harken while I sing 
My unpretentious music of low tone, 
When all his thought is throbbing with his own 
TJnuttered songs of intimate hope or pain? 
Nay, none will hear ; and I shall sing in vain. 
Yet as the deathless bards so bright of old 
Sang each his dream, weaving the secret gold 
Of fancy in the woof, until its fire 
Of beauty passeth all that men desire, — 
So poets less imperial still shall dare 
Lift up their voices on the crowded air ; 
Knowing that though the melody be frail. 
Yet such alone is way that can avail 
Ever for bard. And though I be not he 
Destined to make immortal minstrelsy. 
Yet they who love the poets of dead years 
Will give me grace to pour in some few ears 
A tale I choose all other tales above 
To wreathe about with memory and with love. 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

'Tis of a Singer, singing long ago. 
Beside what little inland river's flow 
His quiet days were spent, or by what roar 
Of waves upon what Grecian island shore 
His ear was tuned to song, I cannot know ; 
For all his life was very long ago. 

Yet this much comes to me : — as youth's fair 
days 
Began to open to the myriad ways 
Our life affords (some stained and some bright. 
With gloomy dust or with celestial light). 
Then to his eyes, that seemed the sweetest road 
"Which leads to Fancy's gossamer abode ; 
"Where, musing upon joys to earth unknown. 
The dreaming singer walks. For there alone 
Is silence deep with meaning. There no noise 
Of common feet ; harsh turmoil which destroys 
The thin and lovely gauze of poet's dream 
Came never there ; but in a limpid stream 
His spirit's music exquisitely played. 
Till shy-foot fawns and dryads from their shade 
Of hazel or of willow oft would peep. 
Or naiads rise from dripping bowers of sleep 
To listen. 

And the singing in his soul 
Welled up and flooded o'er the crystal bowl 

2 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 



Of spirit, and in moulded words came forth. 
And in strange quiet corners of the earth 
Men, little learned, sang his songs again 
Beneath the sunset or the rising Wain 
As they turned home. . . . 

The years passed over him 
Lightly ; and little weeping came to dim 
His eyes ; and all of sorrow that he knew 
Was rather guessed than deeply felt as true. 
Yet many things his poet's heart divined, 
And far-off death cast shadows on his mind. 
And once, at time when rains began to fall. 
He made this song, his heart' s ' ^ Confessional " : — 

^^ I am a singer ; and I set 
My steps where dews of dawn are wet. 
And wander where dusk shadows steal. 
Or where the constellations wheel 
Through heaven. And I cannot tell 
Why I should love so passing well 
Life's winds, and find the common ways 
So trivial to my spirit's days. 
This only know I, — that my heart 
Thirsts for the places lone apart ; 
Perfectly glad to do no thing 
Save of their secret deeps to sing, 

3 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

^^ Perhaps it is a bitter jest 
Of life, — to lead me from the best 
Our unreturning days afford ; 
And tempting me with dream of Lord 
Of Fancy, set a wall between 
Mine eyes and all the happy green 
Meadows of actual living. Still, 
Though this be so, the lyric hill 
Is all my home. For there I weave 
Songs that I fondly would believe 
May last a little, after sun 
And moon have chanted orison 
Peacefully over my low bed. 
Rising and setting where are shed 
The flowers that shall wave o' er me 
When I shall sleep eternally. 

^^ So on the midnight's lamplit hour 
I pour my spirit's trembling power. 
In hope each winged phantasy 
Out of the ardent mind may be 
Embalmed in the amber gloom 
Of poesy's immortal tomb. 
Not such a grave as where we lay 
The mortal embers cold away ; 
But a warm shrine, where every beam 
Of later sun shall pierce with gleam 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

That shall relume the rainbow fires 
Pound the bright wings of old desires 
And hopes that fluttered warm and fleet 
Through meadows where once moved my feet, 
Living and dreaming. And again 
The sunlight's joy, the moonlight's pain 
Shall weave around them, keen or pale, 
That magic unsubstantial veil 
That men call life. No more they fly 
Like wisps of cloud on a summer sky ; 
But frozen in their prison walls 
No matter how the Springtide calls. 
Immortal, yet forever cold ; 
Young as at birth, yet ages old. 
For life and death shall married be 
In this, my immortality." 

He sang, and ceased j but the soft music grown 
Kept echoing the magic of its tone 
On which as on a river flood he rode, 
Drifted where' er the singing current flowed. 
And now it swept him past his own brief years 
To oceans of all mortal hopes and fears; 
Till borne returning on the vagrant tide 
His thoughts turned to the lyre at his side. 

And then, as if awakened by his words, 
A murmur stirred across the golden chords, 

5 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

And quivering movements sweeping over it 
Trembled its frame, — as when o'er waters flit 
Passing of winds that ruffle with white feet 
The placid surface. And a music sweet 
Began to kindle, filled with some strange power, 
Like that of poets in their mystic hour. 
When a strong other presence seems to take 
Command upon the soul. And then it spake, 
Singing: — 

^^ . . . O brother who hast thrilled 
My soul to life, that it is filled 
With sense of far-off mysteries 
And stirrings from the greater seasj — 
When we are past the setting sun 
Days shall seem precious, every one; — 
How shall we look back wholly glad 
If now we linger, rapt and sad ? 

^ ' Brother, I have been with thee when 
We sang the pageantry of men 
And battle and resounding deeds, — 
Of love and all its loving needs, — 
Of toil and mighty weariness : — 
Each joy and struggle that could bless 
The earth of men, the sea of ships. 
Has been in song upon our lips. 

6 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

^^ And yet, O brother-heart, meseems, 
Beyond the covert of our dreams, 
As if from life there might be wrung 
Music more sweet than we have sung ; 
Lovelier and more keenly dear 
Than that which fills the spirit^ s ear; 
With tones more deep, that well might be 
The hoarded joy of memory. 

^^ Why may we not go forth, my brother, 
Unto the great unlighted sky; 
Thou and I, and no heart other. 
To feel together before we die 
That whole whose glimpses, singing, we 
Have found so precious of desire. 
Yea, this one thing I ask of thee, 
Who am thy brother and thy lyre.'^ 

And as it ceased, the Singer minded him 
How all his days had passed beneath the dim 
And haunted shades of fancy; — that delight 
Of struggle, or attainment, or black night 
Of failure were as things a dream has shown; - 
Felt, understood, but never quite his own. 
Long had he loved such maids as Helen fair, 
And Eastern princesses with tawny hair. 
And walked with ladies from a faery land: 

7 



THE HAPPY PEIKCESS 

But when yet had he touched a liviug haud ? 
Then thinking upon this^ he stirred the strings 
With loving touch, and to their whisperings 
Cried: — 

^^ To the fields we will go forth 
And prove the weakness or the worth 
Of songs that we so long have sung, — 
If they will comfort us among 
Cold cities and unfavoring fields, 
And take what cheer the singing yields. 
Brother, together we shall rove. 
And learn perchance of joy and love 
Some little that we had not guessed, — 
We who have leaned on Helen's breast 
In fancy. Yea, the world is wide, 
And earth is flushing with Springtide ! '^ . . 



Book H 

THE EMEEALD GATE 

There was a city of high golden walls ; 
Men said its gates were chiselled emeralds ; 
But some believed the green fires of the dawn 
Kose from the slopes these towers were builded 

on, 
And, lit afresh each morn and evening, came 
To guard the city with a door of flame 
Like Springes pale splendors. And the night- 
winds set 
Their stars upon its walls. Its feet were wet 
With quiet ripples of a sea whose marge 
No man had touched. Within, a palace large 
And of high splendor worthily was house 
Unto a king upon whose silent brows 
Was set the double crown of East and West. . . . 

Thither the Singer came upon his quest 
Of hours more beautiful and life more warm ; 
And with his lyre at rest upon his arm. 
Paused at the threshold of the Emerald Gate j 
And then, with seeking and with youth elate, 
Entered ; and, passing in the busy crowd. 
Moving through courts where fountain -jets were 
loud 



THE HAPPY PEIKCESS 

In rounded basins of the cool- veined jade, 
Went onward to the hall whose porches made 
A shining marble- pillared colonnade. 
Looking through spaces of the columns tall, 
The outside world seemed lightened of its pall 
Of dinginess ; and field and sun and tree 
Were folded in some brilliant witchery, 
That made the heart glad with the little bay. 
And cleared the words the hill-winds tried to 

say. 
And gave each glimpse of sea or winding road 
Personal consonance with man's abode. 

He entered ; and because his dress was trim, 
And youth's and music's brightness played o'er 

him, 
And since his singing was so passing sweet. 
They gave to him a lofty golden seat 
At the high table of the silent king. 
Who gazed at him with pleasant wondering. 

On either hand at that great table sate 
Stern ministers, and ladies of high state, 
And nobles of the blood. And tliere was one 
About whose head the glow of summer sun 
Seemed visible, — the princess. And a flame 
Of the earth's glory flickered where she came. 

10 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

I know not in what subtle words to sing 
That to the sight of others I may bring 
This splendid princess with bright golden hair. 
No man who saw might call this princess fair 
If with that word he had named other maid 
Of earth. Such beauty maketh each afraid 
Lest looking he may shatter it like gleam 
Of rainbow bubble on some dancing stream. 
Each perfume drifted from the dreaming South 
Seemed mingled in the smiling of her mouth. 
Each beam of fire a star sheds as it dies 
Was met to make the glory of her eyes. 
And old men, watching where her figure moved, 
Wept, hearing long- dead voices they had loved. 

And the young Singer, seeing such a form 
As hers, clothed round with rose-mists soft and 

warm 
Like those that dawn over the meadow weaves, 
Was stricken silent ; — as one who long believes 
In powers divine, yet when a miracle 
At last appears, doubts what his senses tell. 
Each song of beauties dead so long ago. 
Each tale of dear loves underneath the snow, 
Each melody that breathes of garden- closes. 
Full of the trembling passion of the roses, — 
All these, and every hoarded hope were crying ; 

11 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

And each remembered lay of love undying 
Dizzily came, like clouds at twilight flying, 
TJpgathered in a single blinding gleam, 
Showering with tenderness from every dream 
That oft had wavered in his random singing. 
And dumb he stood, knowing that life was 

bringing 
At last a form that on real earth did move 
To deck with all the splendors of his love. 

He looked not ever at the pageantry ; 
He heard no voice of all the minstrelsy. 
For sight and sense in dreaming trance were 

bound, 
And winged thought moved its tumultuous 

round 
Of sudden love and exaltation's flame ; 
As if, in some far garden, round one name 
Spirits did hover, and continually 
Make adoration of strange melody. 

And many a day in shadow of those halls 
He tarried, — like the Knight a spell enthralls 
When, wandering lone the meads at evening, 
He hears the calling faery- voices sing. 
For voices of the air or of the earth 

12 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 



Were round him. Some, it seemed, he knew 

from birth, 
So grateful and familiar-toned were they ; 
But others, drifting from the far-away 
Bourne of the winds, fluttered before the eyes 
Of fancy with the promise of surprise 
Most wonderful and sweet. Each day they grew 
Until it seemed they surely must beat through 
The thinness of their veil and burst like flame.— 
And on one day of days, at last they came. 

He sat within the wildwood, and the air 
That waved the princess's bright loosened hair 
Was like a living breath ; and she, alive 
With mystery of beauty that would drive 
Now and again his blood in such a sway 
That he must turn his wondering eyes away 
To hide their look. At length, too much afraid 
For silences, he took his harp and played : — 

'^My love, the ripple dances 
Along the lonely sand. 

And on the water glances 
Moonlight from faeryland. 

^' You seem the high-born maiden 
And I the lover bold 
13 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

Who from his heart love-laden 
Sang madrigals of old. 

'■ ^ You are the prisoned princess 
Whose love- enraptured lips 

Wrought songs that made great princes 
Sail o'er the sea in ships. 

^^ You are the queen of revels 
And I the lover poor. 

We through the sunrise levels 
Fled far across the moor. 

^' My love, the ripple dances 
Along the quiet sand. 

And where yon moonlight glances, 
There is our faeryland.'' 

When he had done, the princess said no word, 
But looked at him as one who just had heard 
Some pleasant song might look at any bard 
And smile the sweetness of her soft reward. 
Even such sweetness was too magical 
With beauty not to bring in swift recall 
The whole stored longing of a hundred Springs ; 
And stir within his blood rememberings, 

14 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

Vague and elusive, as if lie somewhere 

Had died of old for love of the bright hair 

Of a forgotten woman, whom new birth 

Made real once more upon the Springtide earth. 

And forces deeper than his single mind 

Swept him like petals on the great South Wind, 

Till his whole being whirled in a peopled mist. 

And suddenly upon the brow he kissed 

The princess, — folding to his reckless breast 

Her young frail bosom j — clasped her hands and 

pressed 
Them to him ; — and sank back, benumbed and 

blind. 
Trembling like petals on the great South Wind 

And such a silence on the woodland grew 
As seemed to make a barrier round these two. 
Shutting them in with viewless walls of glass 
From every sound that through the world did 

pass ; 
From every thought or dream of what might 

move 
Beyond the stillness of the twilight grove. 

Then o'er his head he heard the stirring air. 
And felt the touch of fingers on his hair, — 
A gentle touch that seemed to come and pass 

15 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

Like his own breath trembling the tender grass. 
And in his ear a whisper: — 

'^Dear one, let 
This hour go by forever, and forget. 
Forget me if you will ; yea, that were meet 
Since I have made this pathway for your feet. 
Yet I were loath to have you quite lose thought 
Of me and of the sweetness you have brought. 
I too have loved, — not with such love as smites 
Its fire upon the soul, — but with soft lights 
Of tenderness. . . . Dear one, no more can be 
Save only this ever for you and me.'^ 

And he looked slowly in her eyes and said: — 
^^The light of my whole life is round your head, 
So that with you my living hours must bide 
Or else go wandering into eventide. 
You only give the meaning to this dream 
Of earthly days, where pallid mist-lights stream 
In chaos save for you. Upon your form 
The dizzying beams find goal; and lighted, 

warm, 
I see you in the whirlwind of their fire, — 
You who give house to the soul's lost desire, — 
You, the one lamp under whose glow unfold 
Life's hidden pages writ in secret gold. 

16 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 



And if you go, dusk comes to blur the line 
That had been portent of your life and mine.'^ 

Pitifully looking in his eyes, she laid 
Her hand on his, and quiveriDg answer made: — 
^' What am I, that unguessing I have stirred 
This in your heart ? Never remorseful word 
Shall make forgiveness for me. Oh, forget 
All you have dreamed. For me, my path is set 
Toward other life ; this is not mine to take. 
Go ; for it is a dream whence you will wake j 
Go, since the end has come ; no more can be 
Save only this ever for you and me.'^ 

Whereon he answered, low and tremblingly: — 
*^ What other meaning has there been in Spring 
That for so many years made whispering 
On my deaf ears ? And now the meaning goes j 
And in one hour blossoms and dies the rose.'' 

And then it ended. With one strained embrace 
He turned and fled out from the haunted place ; 
And through the woodland's leafy flickering 

shade 
Sped on, as though his heart were too afraid 
Of what dear wraiths were following on behind 
To dare to turn again. The evening wind 
17 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

Began to rise, and breathed its tender call 
Over the forest, faintly musical. 
The birds commenced to sing their twilight song ; 
And in the fields the shadows laid their long 
Quivering fingers on the folding bloom 
Of lilies lulled to slumber by the boom 
Of heavy- winged beetles as they passed; 
And fireflies rose flickering from the grass. 
And the last redness of the western gleam 
Faded on the cool bosom of each stream. 



18 



\\ 



Book HI 

THE EOOFS OF THE CITY 

Know you that ancient battlemented town, 
With roofs a-cmmble and walls turning brown 
Beneath their ivy, on whose northern gate 
The Lion with the Truncheon ramps in state 
Upon his shield of dim heraldic gold ? 
A mouldering town, grown now so very old 
That it forgets its youth; and like a crone 
Over her hearth-fire, mumbles dreams alone ;— 
Not fair dreams, but the petty questionings 
That burr and babble as the kettle sings. 

To such a place the Singer drifted on 
Through field and city, aimless and alone ; 
And in the end, sore weary, found him house 
In an old slanting attic whose dark brows 
Frowned o'er the street. Yet when the day did 

wane 
With level sun, and through each leaded pane 
Poured yellow light, then were he loath to change 
His window on the roofs for the whole range 
Of royal gardens. Over gables high 
Sharp black against the fading western sky,— 
Over old chimneys curling forth a haze 

19 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

Of thin blue smoke, — he watched the ending 

days 
Sink to their low red line of deepening glow, 
And in his heart would ever come and go 
The changing pictures of those days that set 
Visions before the eyes too often wet. 
And in the twilight he would live anew 
The love that silent in his spirit grew; 
Feeding remembrance with each hour and 

place, — 
Each look that once had played upon her face, 
Each glory that had lighted in her eyes. 
And sometimes suddenly a flood would rise 
Within his heart to bear him, pale and lost, 
To such a sea of longing that no cost 
Of life or death seemed anything to pay 
For one word spoken in the old dear way. 

But as the days wore on, and moon by moon 
The summer passed, the immemorial boon 
Of peace stole on him. — Not forgetfulness; 
For more than all life held, he still would press 
Unto his inmost heart that memory 
Sweeter than ever aught again might be. 
Let come thereafter whatsoever may. 
Youth still is right in clinging to the day 
Of its first love: by some dim sense it knows 

20 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

That when this passes, then the dawn- light goes. 
And though the noon be fair, who can put by 
His tenderness for that first flushing skj^ ? 

Songs came, but not so freshly as of old. 
Sometimes, when loneliness crept on like cold, 
He would go forth into the market-place 
Amid the people; but no lifted face 
Gave him that joy which he had known when 

tears 
Had touched his listeners^ eyes in former years. 
None here had tears for others' songs to spare ; 
And all his music froze in the blank air. 
Therefore he ceased to sing, save to his own 
Brave heart at twilight where he sat alone. 

One eve in his lone attic far apart 
He sang this song unto his dreaming heart: — 

^^ The Spring and the Eose have passed ; 

And you, my love, have flown. 
Like a breath too sweet to last 

From the buds of the hawthorn blown. 

'^ O love, in the clear Spring weather 
Our hearts were like fair white flowers; 

And the joy of our days together 
Comes back through the silent hours. 

21 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

*^ But now that the love is over, 
With all that the days might bring, 

What joy to the lonely lover 

In Spring and the Rose of Spring ? '^ 

And as he ceased, he heard a little noise 
Outside his window, and a shrinking voice 
Said, '^ Sir, may I not listen 1 '^ 

Next his own, 
There hung a casement- balcony, alone 
In all the street for being decked with bloom 
Of flowers ever. Now, from his dim room. 
He peered into the dusk, and saw a face 
Pale and half- frighted, looking o'er the space 
Between them. Such a ruddiness of mouth 
Might have been brought to blossom in the South; 
But the shy eyes, the whiteness of her brow, 
Were such as no earth-magic could endow 
Save windy northern lands, where Beauty broods 
And flees from Madness through waste solitudes. 
A woman's mouth; and eyes that scarcely knew 
The wisdom of a woman, save that through 
Their depths that light would swiftly come and go 
Whereby the soul knows more than it can know. 

^^ Gladly shall you be listener to my lays," 
The Singer said. 

22 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 



^^ Now for so many days," 
She answered, ^ ^ have I heard you, and could bear 
No longer like an eavesdropper to wear 
A mask of silence. For your singing fills 
My heart like summer light between the hills. 
It is so strange, —so wonderful a thing; — 
How have you learned such melodies to sing ? " 

And he made kindly answer: — 

^^Why, meseems, 
We weave our singing as a link of dreams 
To pierce beyond our narrow loneliness 
When mists of night and silence seem to press 
Blindingly on the heart. And then our song 
Is like a chain which stretches far along 
Into the outer planetary air. 
Touching perhaps some star, none knoweth 

where. 
I do not think that such things can be taught; 
I know that never hoarded gold has bought. 
With all the splendid pomp of Eastern seas, 
The secret touchstone of these mysteries." 

And she said slowly :—'' I have known too well 
That loneliness; but I could never tell. 
Though I had wished it, unto any one 
How much the voiceless spirit, being alone, 

23 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 



Yearns for its chain to the peopled outer spaces 
Of lighted sky and the great open places. 
I felt it ever, though I had no words 
Until the day I heard your chanted chords. 
I felt it 'j — yea, not even you can know, — 
You in whom songs and strength of singing 

glow; — 
You know not how our buried longings sing 
Although our voices chant not anything. ' ^ . . . 

And then, giving no pause for his reply, 
She hurried on, eager, but tremblingly: — 

^^ There is so much to tell to you: one hour 
Cannot contain it : yet the very power 
Of what it is forces it into one. 
Which must be rising-song and requiem. 
Once only may I see you, — I who heard 
Of your sweet singing every breathed word, — 
That I may tell you what your songs have made 
For one who moves in the world's silent shade ; — 
What worship has been poured, what secret dew 
Of love has fallen, though you never knew : 
How all my soul has flowed in music sweet 
And flung itself in passion at your feet. 
— For ah, I know your heart so passing well! 
Since I have hoarded every note that fell 

24 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 



Fresli from your lips: — such lieart I did not 

know 
Amid earth^s darkened loneliness could grow. 
— I tell it you, who are so far above 
The dim entanglements of struggling love 
That I may speak my soul's most secret word 
Almost as if to him, the Blessed Lord. 
You are the light each rising morn would seek, 
And finds not in the world; so that, grown weak 
And weary with its search, it sinks to rest 
Beyond the mountains folding in the West. 
You are the secret beauty too divine 
Often amid earth's cruelties to shine ; 
And I give thanks as to a shining god 
Made manifest upon the darkling road— 
A god whom I might love as it is given 
To some few souls to love the lights of Heaven. 
And in that love has melted all my pride, 
And to have told you this, I would have died.'' 

And then she fled; and the night lay still and 
wide. 

Not any day thereafter did he see 
That slender form upon her balcony. 
But often when the lyric passion stirred 
His singing lips, he somehow knew she heard. 

25 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

And greatly did he marvel at it all, 
Thinking: — 

^'1 know my song is musical 
With sweetness that might well enthrall the sense 
With its unguessed and shadowy eloquence; 
But 'tis most strange her fancy should have set 
My form upon a height which never yet 
An actual man has won. Too well I know 
That I am not a god, but here below 
Struggle in dust of mortal frailties 
And rarely look upon the sacred seas 
Of fair Apollo. — What a mystery 
Is love, that it can build its history 
Upon an unreal dream, and thence uprear 
Its shining turrets, till the sunlight clear 
Gilds the high bastions with a crown of fire. 
Strange love; strange weaving of a blind desire 
In spider-web around a branch of pine 
Until, transformed, the dingy bosses shine 
With rainbow colors. '' 

As a tempest stroke 
Suddenly blasts a hollow shell of oak 
That long has secretly been mouldering through 
Though strong to outward look, — so smote a new 
Eevealing light upon the Singer's mind. 
And for a dizzy moment in the wind 

26 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 



Swayed the fair tree that was his love of yore, 
And then fell, gaping to its hollow core. 

a I too,— yea, I too, reared me such a dream! 
Around a woman's form I wove the gleam 
Borrowed from sunrise, and the night's proclaim 
I mingled with the music of her name. 
I saw her eyes; and in the empty blue 
I made each longing of the heart come true. 
And I have loved not her, but that bright shade 
Which out of dreams my tenderness has made! " 

And half aghast, he saw the end draw nigh 
To the illusion of his ecstasy. 
Yet half in gladness ;— if the loving yoke 
Were bubble magic, better it were broke 
Swiftly than if it still should lead him on, 
To fail at last when he was old and lone. . . . 

Pondering these things, weary of the town, 
He rose one morn; and out across the down 
Once more he turned his footsteps, wayfaring 
With the old feeling that new paths would bring 
Perhaps some revelation. Many days 
He held his course through unfrequented ways ; 
With wondering thoughts for what his days had 
taught ; 

27 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

With pity for the love that he had brought 

All unsuspecting to a lonely maid; 

And on and on along the world he strayed. 

The passing of swift time he did not heed. 

Winter was gone; and then the greening mead 

Ripened through Summer to September's old 

Familiar warmth of hazy western gold. . . . 

When late in Autumn, on the sunny hills 

Of afternoon, a single cricket shrills 

More loud for being alone ; when blue jays call 

Their hoarse complaint; when whirling red leaves 

fall, 
And the busy squirrel among his granaries 
Chatters at the intruder from the trees ; 
When swallows fly above the fringed wood, — 
Black sailing specks against the violet flood 
Of light to westward, — till the rising mist 
Deepens its shadows into amethyst 
And golden flakes, and one long cloud goes by 
Like a fiery feather on the dimming sky: — 
Then would he muse and ponder; and the days 
Stole by him silently ; and still the ways 
Of life seemed opening to no final goal 
Where, at the end, might rest the seeking soul. 



28 



Booh IT 

THE ELDEST PEmCESS 

Changed many ways from what he was of old, 
The Singer moved with memories manifold. 
Sadness and pity had come over him, 
And knowledge how the eager soul will dim 
Its own clear sight with dreams it loves to cast 
Upon reality. But Winter's blast 
Will tear away the wrappings and leave bare 
The cherished blossom for the winter air 
To wither up. This knew he ; — much to know 
For one whose fancy ever was aglow 
With glories more than earthly. But he trod 
Not the less lightly that the actual sod 
Of earth no more was haunted in his eyes 
With cloudy magic of uncertain skies. 
Eather, some deeper meaning came to lay 
Its touch upon the things of every day, — 
Some warm significance that bound in one 
Each heart that beat and toiled beneath the sun. 
And this hour first since when his life began, 
He looked forth clearly on the face of man. 

Wandering amid the silence of the hills, 
In the large peace which meditation fills 

29 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

With, mused interpretation of things seen, 
With scrutiny of each too-fluttering dream, 
He found within his heart new tenderness 
For every living thing. Small need to dress 
With light unreal the happenings of earth, 
Since naught of common nor of trivial worth 
Could he discover in the world that shed 
Its sadness and its beauty round his head. 

One day he came unto a mountain-town, 
With hanging castles looking steeply down 
Upon the meadow- valleys. And some whim 
Led him to climb up through the forests dim 
And rocks and streams to where the city sate 
With tall, dark towers and massive armored 

gate. 
And in the palace of the ruling lord 
Eight merrily unto the festal board 
Was he with all rejoicing featly led ; 
For fame of his sweet song had gone ahead 
And wrought his welcome. And the lord did 

pray 
He tarry with them for a year and day. 

In that great house were many noble forms 
Of carven mail and blazoning of arms 
And reliques of the glory of past years. 

30 



THE HAPPY PRII^CESS 

Amid these trophies moved, as later peers, 
Full many a lord and lady of degree ; 
And much of pageant and sweet minstrelsy. 
But fairer than all other things was set 
Upon the palace, like a coronet 
Of pearls, the princesses, — a rounded seven. 
And in the music of a song's sweet steven 
Their voices were the clearest ; and no thing 
Moved in those halls save for their pleasuring. 

And of the seven starry princesses. 
The ways and manners of their days were 

these : — 
The first smiled ever, and with glad surprise 
Watched life unfold before her eager eyes. 
The second was most sad j for she had seen 
Life's wastes, and now forgot the meads between. 
The third moved calmly through her life's es- 
tate, 
Never quite sad and never quite elate. 
With face that men called often chill and old. 
The fourth found happiness in splendid gold 
Of sweeping gowns that on the carpet rolled 
Their trains like peacocks proudly wandering. 
The fifth, men said, was sure a wildwood thing 
Strayed into human form. For she would start. 
And with wild eyes turn shivering from her part 

31 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

In ordered custom. And a dreamful stir 
As of the forest quivered over her. 
The sixth was plighted to a noble lord ; 
And her whole life was ruled by sweet accord 
With every breath of his. At dusk or dawn 
Her love wove for him ceaseless orison. 
The seventh, who was eldest, stood apart. 
And no man knew the chambers of her heart, 
Save only that she moved serene and proud, 
Leading each revel of the palace-crowd ; 
That never was her voice cast down or sad. 
And none, from lord to little serving-lad, 
A single quality of her might tell 
Save calm and lovely and inscrutable. 

Amid them all the Singer silent moved. 
The youngest looked upon his face and loved 5 
But he observed it not, so rapt was he 
In some old wandering of phantasy. 
But to the eldest three his steps oft led ; 
And though the Wildwood Princess sometimes 

fled, 
And though the Plighted Princess oft would 

stray 
In other thoughts, yet came he every day 
Unto their balcony, there to rehearse 
Some ancient melody, or hold converse 

32 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

With the eldest princess in high pleasant wise, 
While ever smiles played in her cloudless eyes. 

The eldest princess was a curious deep, — 
Mist-girt, trailing as if from dreamful sleep 
Some unimaginable lovely thing. 
I know not if in flood-tide of her Spring 
She could have been more beautiful than now 
When Summer ripeness of each leaf and bough 
Trembled toward Autumn. For a score and ten 
Of years had she been loved by countless men; 
Yea, even in her cradle did men know 
In that far time, full thirty years ago, 
That she was destined to be lovable. 
And though all marvelled, yet no lips could tell 
Why still aloof her pleasant life she led 
And moved sweet, self- enfolded, and unwed. 

Oft-times the Singer lovingly would note 
The soft firm whiteness of her curving throat, — 
The drooping of her lashes that would veil 
Her thoughts from him, — the hands so firm and 

pale, — 
And the dark beauty of her bended head, 
For all its strength a little wearied — 
Perhaps with dumb recurrence of the days 
And guarded pacing of the clear high ways; 

33 






THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

Or else, perhaps, feeling the weight of cold 
Autumn, and knowing she must soon be old. 
Oft-times in the rose-garden they would walk, 
Some two or three together; but her talk 
Seemed to him ever as a mist between 
Him and the deeps his eyes would fain have seen. 

It chanced that on a certain festal night 
The lords and ladies, in glad raiment dight. 
Were gathered gayly in the banquet hall 
To listen to the singing musical 
Of the seven princesses. Sweetly they sang 
Together, that the arched vaulting rang 
With melody; and these were the few words 
Sung to the singer's softly fingered chords: — 

^^The Eose shall go away, 

And the Nightingale be still. 
And a silence shroud the hill 

For the loves of yesterday. 

^^ But if his rapturous singing 
Has trembled in her ears. 
Shall not his smiles and tears 

Still unto her go winging ? 

''■ And if her sweets have been 
His solace and his pain, 

34 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

Shall not lier bloom again 
Shine through his covert green ? 

*■ '■ For the Rose shall go away 

And the Nightingale shall cease. 
But death gives not release 

To the love of yesterday. '^ 

And all the lords and ladies smiled and 
said : — 
^^ 'Tis sweet, 'tis exquisite. That rose of red 
The youngest princess wears is well designed 
To grace her hair. And where may any find 
Form lovelier than that of the Plighted Maid ? 
The Wildwood Princess seemeth half afraid 
Of her own beauty." Speaking thus, they went 
Out of the hall with courteous argument 
And laughing voices. And their fading tone 
Left in the hall the Singer quite alone. 

The palace was girt round with balconies, 
Broad, hanging high above the garden trees 
Where breathed low voices in each night of June. 
But now in autumn dusk, the rounded moon 
Rose over them like Silence's own form 
With close-drawn robe and pallid bended arm 
Moving austere along her rightful halls. . . . 
Here came the Singer, with such thought as calls 

35 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

For husli of silence and the night's wide space 
To understand its own transfigured face. 

And as he came, he saw against the sky 
The eldest princess leaning wearily, 
Close by a pillar. He drew near, and stood 
Beside her, silent, save what beat his blood 
Made in him. But she still was motionless, 
And the night wind stirred gently in her dress, 
And neither spake 

Till from the golden strings 
The Singer touched a sound of murmurings 
Wonderfully sad and distant; drifting on 
Into the low-breathed music of his song : — 

*^The Princesses were singing 

Before the belted Lords, — 
Heads high, with sweet lips ringing. 

And the Minstrel gave the words. 

^^But the Eldest Princess only 

Lingered upon each note, 
And a beauty strange and lonely 

Was on her soft white throat, — 

^^ A beauty that half was sadness, 
Or full-bloomed Summer's pain, 

36 



THE HAPPY PRIKCESS 

More deep than the Spring's swift gladness, 
And touched with the Autumn rain. 

^^ And I think that the Princess trembled 
With the dream of a far desire; 

And the passion in pride dissembled 
Glowed up to her lips like fire, 

^* As she sang the song of the Minstrel 
Who gave her the tender words, 

As he stood in the hidden shadow 
Behind the smiling Lords. 

^^For he was a boy, the Minstrel, 

And his ways lay far apart. 
But all men's ways were his ways, 

For he had the poet's heart. 

^^ And he saw the Eldest Princess 
Like a flower on the heights above. 

And he trembled below in silence 
For her loneliness of love. 

^^But the Princesses still were singing 

Before the smiling Lords, 
Heads high, with sweet lips ringing, 

And the Minstrel gave the words, 

37 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

^^ 'Tis an old and well-worn story, 
But I think that it once came true. 

For I know the dream of the Princess, 
And the Princess who dreamed was you." 

He ceased, half trembling. Not a faintest stir 
Showed him that life was still alive in her. 
Motionless stood she, as she had not heard 
Of his strange singing any single word. 
And he was dumb. At last did she upraise 
Her eyes, and looked at him with long slow gaze 
Brimming with tears. 

Such light was in her face 
As chosen men see in a holy place 
When gods come down to lead them to some goal 
Beyond all vision of the mortal soul. . . . 

^^This you have told to me, — how could you 
know? 
No one has understood. So long ago 
I shut up in a casket all desires 
For love and joy, — all hope of starry fires 
I once believed in. And you come again 
To stir the old-time ecstasy of pain 
And faith in dreams I thought were surely 
dead.'' 

38 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 
She paused a little, and tlien softly said, — 

''Yea, hearths dear friend, you only under- 
stood 
What none, perhaps, save one or two hearts 

could, — 
The emptiness where hope of love is gone, 
And life in barren chaunels must flow on.'^ 

And then the beauty of her leaned arm. 
Her curving throat so palpitant and warm. 
Filled him with mastery of the final flame 
For which earth knows no holy enough name ; 
So that he whispered, — ''Ah, can it not be?" . . . 
And then at once he knew that foolishly 
He had spoken. 

But most tenderly she said : — 
"Nay, crowns of laurel must be on your head 
In bloom of manhood when my hair is white 
And from mine eyes has faded any light 
That now may linger. You would love me still ; 
But could I bear to see youth's pulses fill 
Your being when my love-fire should be cold. 
And know your tenderness to one grown old?" 

And he made whispered answer : " My desire 
Is lit, I think, from an unfading fire. 
The long days cannot dim it, nor the nights 

39 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

Outshine its clearness with, their myriad lights 
Yonder in heaven. — Yet I will not press 
On you one breath of its great tenderness 
If thus it stirs your pitiful sweet tears. ^' 

And she cried low, ^^The years, the weary 

years ! 
Ah, I am mad to-night, that I can dream 
Even a moment. — Nay, there flows a stream 
Impassable between us ; for my fate 
Calls me to life of rigid lofty state ; 
And you must wander over the free world, 
And in no harbor may your sail be furled 
Save the dream-haven where all beauties come, 
Desires and visions, turning gladly home. 
You shall go from me j for we two have seen 
Deeper in life than the elusive sheen 
Of what each heart would dream, — yea, and 

would give 
All its own hope if but the dream might live. '\ . . 

He would have spoken ; but all eloquence 
Faded before her j and a sudden sense 
Of deeper meaning came as silencer 
Of the wild words he would have cried to her ; — 
A sense of wisdom in those sad, calm eyes 
That dared look clearly on fixed destinies. 

40 



THE HAPPY PEIKCESS 

Between them passed no single word of love. 
Only siie said, with lips that trembled of 
Their passionate calmness, — ^^Yea, I too have 

seen 
What marvel might have dawned if I had been 
Born later, or your destiny's stern way 
Had brought you to me on some yesterday 
When I was young. ' ' . . . 

And hand in hand they stood 
Silent with thoughts. And in the shadowy wood 
The moon sank ; and the autumn darkness 

wove 
Its lonely veil about them and their love. 



41 



Booh T 

THE SINGEE 

^''No song of loving have I ever sung you j 
Yet in my heart yours is the holiest shrine. 
O memory- haunting forms, not one among you 
Is half so pale as this, or so divine 
With stern revealing light that in few hearts 
might shine. 

^'God knows what fire had been in you as 
lover, 
Had you but lessened from your high control 
Of love and life. The close hours that discover 
With tenderness' s cruel light the soul 
And all its weakness, found you unswerving from 
the Goal.'' 

So singing, down the gray slopes of the hill 
The Singer went, as dawn began to fill 
With rosy wine the valley's brimming cup. 
And often turning that he might look up 
One last time more to the sunrise-gilded towers, 
Winged round with light from memory's secret 

hours. 
Went onward. And with swinging firmness 

strode 
Along the fair white windings of the road. 

42 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

Long was the road, that skirting field or foam 
Turned toward the fastness of his ancient home. 
And as it went, it passed the drowsy town 
With mouldering spires and gateways turning 

brown; 
And passed the City of the Emerald Gate; 
And came at last, when twilight low and late 
Burned on the fields, unto the silent place 
Whence once, with sunrise glowing on his face. 
The Singer came forth many a year ago. . . . 

As he drew near to it, there seemed to grow 
A stir and quiver in the golden strings 
That had been comrade of his wanderings ; 
And just as one time long ago they spoke, 
So now the prisoned spirit thrilled and broke 
Its silence, as if wakened by presage 
That this was end of its long pilgrimage. 

^^ Brother heart, the day is done, 
And the ending of the sun 
Over meadow, over foam, 
Bringeth us, so long a-roam, 
To the quiet gates of home. 
In our many pilgrim days. 
In our strange and tortuous ways, 
In our sorrow and delight, 

43 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

In our noonday and our night, — 
Tell me, now that all is done, 
If thy seeking heart has won 
From the things of little worth 
That for which we wandered forth? '' 

Hearing, the Singer bowed awhile his head 
As musing, or a little wearied. 
And then, with eyes glowing with some deep 

fire. 
Made answer to his brother and his lyre : — 

^^ Brother, it is no small thing 
To have sung the songs we sing. 
Better still is it to see 
All was seen by thee and me. 
Best of all when hearts a-roam 
Turn in last fulfilment home. 

'^ For me, I deem that life has paid 
Its debt. Upon one brow is laid 
Such light as would alone have given 
Glimpse of the lamps that burn in heaven. 
O happy princess, yours the gleam 
And yours the unimagined dream 
Which makes the hours both sad and deep 
"With richer undertones that sleep 

44 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

Beneath the music of our days 
And turn to gold the trodden ways. 
Nay, more than dream; for the soul sees 
These dreams are actualities, 
Eooted in no desire apart, 
But sprung from Beauty's truest heart. 
And over all of these you stand, 
Holding aloft with firm pale hand 
The chariot reins of life's swift car. 
Beneath the sun or midnight star 
You guide it with that strong control 
Which is the triumph of the soul. . . . 

^^ O princess, had I come to you 
When life and love were still so new 
As to be things in wonder veiled. 
Who knows but that I might have failed 
To see the immortal brightness set 
Upon your lips and lashes wet. 
Through paths of longing have I come, 
Through lands where agony is dumb. 
But now in peace and calm I go. 
I have beheld the light, and know. 

^ ' I do not think that any Fall 
Hereafter shall work miracle 
Of sunset when the trees are bare, 

45 



THE HAPPY PEIXCESS 

Or fire tlie chill and living air, 

But I shall feel, across all lands, 

The outstretched yearning of your hands. 

No autumn dawning-hour can shake 

Its plumes of gold but shall awake 

Tenderness in me ; and your name 

Shall pass upon the winged flame. 

^^ And for you too has it not been 
Enough that, living, each has seen 
Another heart unveiled and clear, 
And felt another soul draw near 
Until they mingled in one breath 
And touch of wings *? Which never death 
Nor any change can take away; 
Nor harshly wearing later day 
Dispel the love ; nay, rather it 
Shall like an aureole flame transmit 
Soft brightness wheresoever we move 
And fill the world with light of love. 

''But when all lights are overblown 
And darkness hovers on alone, 
Then shall the vanished spirit know 
These things ? Shall sun or Springtide's glow 
Eevive the life of long ago, 
Through former dreams that still shall last 

46 



3 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

When into dark the dreamer passed I 

Some unbelief that we can die, 

Some sense of immortality, 

Not sure, but lingering piteously. 

Brings strength to shape the hope ; but all 

Our hopes and singing musical 

Give no long comfort, though we cling 

To faith, and rouse our hearts to sing 

As if from heaven the soul might view 

On earth its visions live anew; 

Forgetting that it all is vain, 

And death gives nothing back again. 

^^ Yet song is magical; it brings 
Some unguessed glory on its wings, — 
Some clinging memory that shall last 
When into dark the bard has passed. 
Therefore methinks I still shall feel 
The old reviving rapture steal 
Below to comfort me, when eyes 
Of youths shall open with surprise 
And revelation, as the fire 
Of sudden wonder and desire 
In my dear-bought, sweet, quivering words 
Shall strike their beings' hidden chords. 
If in a fountain- plashing room 
Weavers round some Arabian loom 

47 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

Unto each other shall repeat 
My music, very low and sweet, 
And in their colors^ rich design 
Unknowing weave these dreams of mine, 
Then certainly I shall awake 
And bless the far world for their sake. 
\Yhen maidens on a summer night 
Whisper, with softly-breathed delight, 
My songs in their beloved's ear, 
Surely I shall not fail to hear, 
However far my spirit bides, 
However mingled in strange tides 
Of other life or other death. 
And mine shall be their trembling breath 
By right of fancy which has wove 
The kindling image of their love. 

"And from some chamber of the West 
Where I shall take my final rest, 
I shall look back on life, inspired 
With light on puzzles that once tired 
My thought in labyrinths immense. — 
The mysteries of soul and sense j 
And what is good, and what is base ; 
What hallows one beloved face ; 
Why hopeless chasms must still be trod 
By him who greatly dreams of God ; 

48 



I 



T^E HAPPY PEINCESS 



Why tears alone can wake tlie mute 
Music that sleeps within the lute : — 
All these I think that I shall know, 
And many a tale of long ago. — 
All things that living I have sung 
With reverencing though feeble tongue 
Shall there be stripped of cloaking form, 
And actual, palpitant and warm. 
As disembodied essences 
In every dawn flood to mine eyes. 
Living, I loved them for no sake 
Save Beauty's ; dying, then I find 
Of all the goods I leave behind. 
The only treasure I can take. 

^^Eut now what care I if I know. 
When I shall sleep, wrapped cold, below, 
How my praises shall be sung, 
How my altars may be hung. 
With what pomp of nights and days 
Men may give my singing praise. 
But this thing I find most sweet : — 
To have trod with living feet 
Through the uplands, through the green, - 
Living, that mine eyes have seen 
What strength the mortal heart can hold, 
On which such tenderness doth fold 

49 



THE HAPPY PEi:isrCESS 

As still may last when moon and sun 
And stars have chanted orison 
Peacefully over my low bed, 
Rising and setting where are shed 
The flowers that shall wave o'er me 
When I shall sleep eternally." 

And the old glory came upon his face 
With such a softness as to half erase 
The marks of time and each too-longing pang. 
And lifting up his golden harp he sang : — 

^^Thou strangely quivering, lifeless thing, 
How cruel to waken thee to sing ! — 
To stir thy silent golden wires 
With touch of memories and desires. 
Could I not even let thee sleep 
In that Lethean empty deep 
Of lifelessness where never beam 
Of sun should slant athwart thy dream I 

^^ And yet perhaps, in later years. 
In worlds beyond our joys and tears. 
Thou and I, Brother, free and glad. 
Shall both look back, not wholly sad 
At thought of what on earth has been, 
And dear desires we two have seen 5 

60 



THE HAPPY PKINCESS 

At thought I woke you from the clay 
To stir and hope your little day." 

And then, touching no sweet responding chord 
Tenderly over his harp his voice he jioured : — 

^ ' Dreams which the heart doth hold, 
Shall the later years forget ? 
Days of the drifted gold, 
Can ye change and wane and set ? 
Let the stars go out and the sun wax cold, 
But stay ye a little yet. 

*' Ye go ; but ye return 
In secret fairer guise. 
Lights that of old did burn 
In but one woman's eyes 

Now fold the world where the heart once yearned 
For a far-off paradise. 

^^ But now the heart is still 
With a foamless tide of peace. 
Over the bourne and hill 
The ancient questings cease. 
And from the surge of its former will 
The soul shall find release. 

51 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

^^IS'ot in the sky's far gold 
Is the fairest beauty set. 
Love which the world doth fold, 
Love without wane or set 5 — 
Let the stars go out and the sun wax cold, 
But stay thou a little yet.'' 

And then he ceased 5 and every note was still 
Save thoughts that came the silences to fill. 
As when in slope of autumn afternoon 
Ere yet the sun is gone, a feather moon 
More white than silver floats upon the sky 
In crystal silence, while the dreaming eye 
Of poet so is charmed that he knows 
Not when or how the waning sunlight goes j 
And one by one the stars come ; and among 
Her handmaidens, the moon, with censers swung 
Solemnly round her, takes her lofty place 
As queen of sky, and on her weary face 
Shines an immortal ecstasy of light 
And she moves slow out through the trackless 
night. 



52 



POEMS 



•I 



TO FANCY IN THE LATER DAYS 



Yea, thee I call on, even as did that other 
Greater than I in fate though like in aim, 
To whom thou wert as loved breast unto lover. 
Return, O Fancy, kindle me with flame 
Like his, like thine. Not for the hope of fame 
Or glory among men I ask it thee ; 
But that I may rise passionate and free. 
And from the peaks of my soul's liberty 

Justify thy name. 

For wearied of the hearths of home 
Wearier still of days a- roam. 
Unto thee the heart must turn. 
And when dawn or even burn 
Their soft lights of gray or rose, 
Then again my forehead knows 
Cool winds of thy starry sphere, 
And the days of gold are here. 

Linger by me at each hour. 
Come to touch the bluebell's flower, 
By a secret lovely change 
Making it a palace strange, 
Where the airy slender feet 

55 



THE HAPPY PP IX CESS 

Of the faeries are more s^ee: 
Than the perfmne drifts from it. 
Down the veined halU we glide 
Where they flit and coyly hide. 
Bnt when they behold thee come 
To their swinging drowsy home. 
All their x)^rfames forth they bear. 
All the dewdrops from their hair, 
All their songs of silence rare. 
And they lay them at thy feet, — 
Bluebell gifts to one more sweet 
Than the fainting breath of it. 

O sweet Fancy, come with me 
To the green depths of the sea. 
Come with me npon this shore 
Unto which the long waves roar. 
We will watch the bright crests come, 
Cnrling over into foam. 
And the moment ere they fall 
Dart into the clear green hall. 
And there be shut within the cave 
Of the glimmering hollow wave. 
Through its galleries we go, 
PiEBt the groves where salt trees grow, 
Over the sea- weed's ebb and flow. 
We will come Into the walls 

56 



TO FAKCY IN THE LATER DAYS 

Of those deep dim castle halls 
Built of reinless emeralds, 
Where dwell all things sweet and dead 
That from the garish earth have fled. 
There I know that we shall find 
The lost voice of the night wind. 
There will be the perfect note 
Which has ever seemed to float 
Just beyond the yearning reach 
Of earthly music's trembling speech. 
Ah, perhaps there will be there 
Lights on long- dead sunny hair, 
Loves that were for earth too fair ! 

II 

If, O Fancy, thou wouldst bring 
All these joys, that I might sing 
Of their beauty, could I ask 
More of thee who let me bask 
In the dawn- light of thy smiles 
Eound about thy fairy isles ? 

Yea, I ask thee for a greater 
Harder boon, — a charm to bring 
To a sadder world and later 
All its youth's remembering ; 

57 



THE HAPPY PEIN^CESS 

To bring back to wiser faces 
Fervor of their youth's desire, — 
Hope to seek the Silent Places, 
Strength to find the Holy Fire. 
For I know that thou canst fill 
With thy passion every mind, 
Touch the eyes that now are blind, 
Wake the soul that now is still, 
Make the deadened spirit thrill 
Like a branch in April wind. 

Thou hast loved the poet' s dreaming 
Haunted chamber, hushed and lone. 
Now come forth where tides are streaming 
Of stern life, where break and moan 
In the streets these weary streams. 
Leave the poet with his dreams. 
He needs not thy loving beams 
As do these, thy lost, thine own. 

For they are sad and worn with too long 
waiting 
For the great word, the solving touch of life. 
And all is sordid grown, — their rest, their strife. 
Death and desire and the sweet bloom of mating 
Are common things. And all their hope of life 
Fades out into a pallor, and is gone. 

58 



TO FAIn'CY IK THE LATER DAY 



III 

They have forgot. The fairest things 
Pall ; and they seek their joys in strife, 
Panting for what the morrow brings, 
The fleeting morrow of worn life. 
The silences of twilight hours, 
The voices of each woody spot, 
The very beauty of small flowers. 

They have forgot. 

The sunset burns for them in vain. 
To them the sacramental dawn 
Is but new lease of trivial pain 
Which must be drowned in pressing on 
To strange fierce joys. I^o milder balm 
Brings any easing of their lot. 
The soft, the beautiful, the calm, 

They have forgot. 

They pray to God with hope of heaven ; 
Yet nightly have no heart to see 
Orion and the shining Seven 
Move through the dusk's infinity. 
— What if to them the death-hour brings 
Knowledge which life has given not, — 
That heaven lies in the little things 

They have forgot ? 

59 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

IV 

Fancy, crowned in heaven of old, 
Bring again thy sacred gold 
That our days fade not in cold. 
Cast thy light upon the flowers 
Blooming round the weariest hours, 
And in bosoms make thy home 
Whence the visions all have gone. 
Thou canst build that godlike state 
Past the bitter blows of Fate ; 
Thou canst make the heart stand free 
Even from its own agony ; 
And in the light thy coming brings 
The soul looks up, Lo ! and has wings ! 



60 



TO FELICIA 

Eoses have I never brought 

Passionately unto thee, 
Nor in woodland valleys sought 

Violet or anemone. 

What were flowers for that breast 
Where the whole Spring's melodies 

Tremble softly out of rest? 
I have brought thee none of these. 

But from gardens never stirred 
By the footsteps of the throng, 

Silent save for one wild bird, — 
Lo! I bring thee now a song. 



61 



TO ALDEBAEAN 

I 

Thou that glowest in the sky 
With thy sullen smouldering light, 

Like a red and angry eye 
Burning through the black of night, — 

Unto thee I sing my song 

As the night winds pass along 
From the west, where sank the sunset, 

To the stretches of the dawn. 

II 

O Aldebaran, the red. 
Casting down thy bloody glow. 

Burning from the mad Bull's head 
On the earth so gray below 5 

Wheeling slow above the west 

When the world has gone to rest; 
Brooding o' er the silent darkness 

Where the low hills raise their crest, - 



ni 

Take me on thy wings of fire 
To the deep of darkness dim ; 
Let me quench my great desire 

62 



TO aldebaea:n^ 



Out upon the heavens' rim. 
Plunge with me into the night 
Hushed of sound and void of light 

Where dead suns and wandering planets 
Grapple in eternal fight. 

IV 

"Where thou goest would I go, 
Wheeling through the trackless gloom, 

Into paths I cannot know, 
Darker, stiller than the tomb. 

And when brooding night is flown 

In the carolling of dawn. 
Let me follow thee forever 

Through the wastes that are thine own. 



Let me follow thee to spaces 
Whence the earth shall fade afar. 

In the vast aerial places 
Let me find some untrod star 

Where the silence is so deep 

That the soul itself must sleep. 
While across the heavens' mountains 

Thou thy burning watch dost keep. 



63 



THE HAPPY PRII^CESS 
VI 

Then my night of ancient longing 
Shall be swallowed in thy night. 

In thy dusk, the shadows thronging 
Through my dusk shall turn to light. 

And perhaps in comets' flame 

All my dreams shall make proclaim, 
Fiery-borne along the darkness 

To the darkness whence they came. 

VII 

And beyond all mortal things, 
In the outlands of the sky, 

Soaring on thy giant wings 
I shall see the world pass by 

Like a dream, — a pageant known 

In the space one thought has flown. 
And thereafter shall be silence 

And the night that is mine own. 



64 



MAD SOT^G 

The cold tree-tops and the wind and the stars 

Are tangled together to-night ; 

The sailing moon is blurred and bright 
Behind the branches^ bars. 

The seven winds that dwell on the moon 

To-night have all got free, 

And they speed toward earth like a wraith on 
the sea, 
And their spell will reach us soon. 

Is there any haven or holy hill 

On earth or underground 

Where I may hide from that dreadful sound 
When their shrieks the air shall fill ? 

Is there any darkness more close than night 

Where I can steal away 

That I may not see their ghost-light gray 
Which turneth to stone the sight ? 

And, oh, the touch of the seven moon- winds ! 

And, oh, their fingers cold and wan! 

To every morrow those eyes are blind 
Where the seven moon- winds have gone. 

65 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

They come ! I see them speeding adown 

The moonlight's frozen track. 

And when they go, I shall follow them back 
Unto their terrible town. 

I shall follow their starved and wailing faces, 

Those faces blank of eyes. 

Those faces that fill the gloam with their cries 
In desolate soundless places. 

Out from the tree-tops and tangled stars 
I am drawn, I am going to-night, 
To where the moon sails blurred and bright 

Beyond the branches^ bars. 



66 



ITALIAN PHANTASY 



As the dark hills yearn toward Spring,- 
As the summer swallow's wing 
Turns to spaces of the South, — 
As the poppy's glowing mouth 
Cries for kisses of the sun 
When Autumn days are almost done, — 
As the heart too long aroam 
Hungers for the peace of home, — 
As the sea-gull turns to the sea, — 
So turn I toward Italy. 

And the ancient peace that bides 
Somewhere in her crystal tides 
Of southern pumice-isles 5 or where 
In the gold glow of Tuscan air 
Florence slumbers ; or in the home 
Of all dead splendid shadows, Eome, — 
In one of these her peace doth wait. 
And though the wanderer cometh late, 
Cometh weary to her breast. 
Her arms shall open, and give him rest. 



67 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

II 

I dare not think of thee, my land 
(Mine by the right of ancient love), 
Where once the Master-Poet wove 
His songs which the cold English strand 
So long dared not approve. 
It were enough that he has sung 
Thy sunset-girdled hills among 
That thou shouldst ever be 
Sacred ; enough, that in thy deep 
Silence he takes his dreamless sleep 
Beside thine azure sea. 

I dare not think of thee, who long 
Hast held all singers captive there. 
Bidding them weave each jewelled song 
To star the glory of thine hair ; 
Lest I should flee my destined hour 
Beneath these cold gray northern skies, 
And come to add my fragile flower 
Unto thy splendid garlandries. 
How holy seem thy garden -places 
To me upon these northern plains ; 
How full of dear undying faces 
And shadows which my soul would greet, 
Haunting thy evening rains ! 

68 



ITALIAN FANTASY 



One, chief amid the lyric choir, 

When his short day was almost done, 

Came to thee, that his sinking fire 

At least might die beneath thy sun. 

And through thy golden afternoons 

The freshness of a thousand Junes 

Has bloomed with lily and glowing rose 

In Petrarch^ s quiet garden- close. 

And through thy dusks one form has moved 

Not ever after to be lost, 

Who by the wind of Hell was tossed 

To reach the haven of his love. 



Ill 

O land beloved, — when the flame 
Of sunset on the Grecian coast 
Shone like a dream not wholly lost. 
From that most magic soil I came ; 
From sea- winds and gray olive-trees ; 
From cold clear heights and stony plains, 
And what of ancient shrine remains 
Yet more austere than these j — 
From Daulis and the land of Thrace 
And the broad ^ vales of Thessaly ; — 
And turned with eager seeking face 

Seaward, to thee, to thee. 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

As once in purple-winged bark 
Across the waves some Tyrian came, 
So come I ; with the sunset's flame 

I steer into the dark. 
Across the sea my galleys stream, 
Into thy haven of sunny gold ; 
Where the poplars quiver in the tender gleam 
And the young is mingled with the old, — 
The young pale Spring so beautiful 
And the old land rich in its faded years, — 
In its immortality of tears 
And its fountains of dreams that are ever full. 
Spring too has dreams ; but the tears not yet 
Have made her lovely lashes wet. 
And she looks half- wondering on thy head 
Bowed with the memories of the dead. 
The light of her eyes like the azure dawn 
Across thy ruined graves is shed ; 
And the cypress forgets its orison 

For the mighty that have gone. . . . 
The vineyard- vales are green with fire 
Of thin and tremulous leaves. 
And in the tree-tops as a lyre 
The Spring her music weaves. 
Plain and river and terraced hill 
Stir in the magic of her will. 
There moves amid the feathery pines 

70 



ITALIAN FANTASY 



A snow-breath from the Apennines. 

The very towers which, mouldered brown, 

From little citadels look down, 

Forget the aging thousand years ; 

And see again the gallant spears 

That once they saw pass gayly by 

In long -dead springtide pageantry. 



IV 

Then rises in the sunset west, 
Shadowed beneath one mighty dome, 
That city of dreams, that bourne of rest,- 
Eome. 

I come, where all have come sometime, - 
All dreamers of the world's desire, 
Whose eager color and glowing rhyme 
Girdle the heart with fire. 
St. Peter's hollow distances 
Still echo with the countless feet ; 
Again the chanting, solemn, sweet, 
Floats with the incense- mysteries. 
Through vaulted nave again is poured 
The pageant of the sacrifice, 
Lifting to alien peoples' eyes 
The visible splendor of the Lord. 
And on the heart with wonder shod 

71 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

The outward pomp its spell doth weave, 
Teaching the doubter to believe : — 
How can such altar lack its God ? 

As pilgrims came in earlier years 
To lay before some shrine 
The heavy burden of their tears, 

Take thou, O city, mine. 
Let each thin circumstance and hope 
Of mine own destinies 
Fade in the all-dissolving scope 
Of thine immensities. 
In thy dark streets the troubled sense 
Of mu,rching myriads fills the breast. 
The wayside fountains still attest 
Some bygone Pope's magnificence. 
On ruin is new ruin grown, 
Builded above with later tower. 
Scarce on the column roots the flower ; 
For new life makes the wreck its own, 
Lifting the present from the past, — 
The dim cathedral from the heap 
Where Csesar's dust was laid asleep. — 
Through death's gray arches life whirls fast. 

Yet perfect peace one spot alone 
Enfolds, — one spot, thy holiest one, 

72 



ITALIAN FANTASY 



Where two high hearts at rest are laid, — 

Where Shelley sleeps in cypress shade 

And Keats beneath the sun. 

The spring wind stirs the solemn trees, 

But nevermore shall it awake 

These eyes, nor linger for the sake 

Of teaching them its melodies. 

And the swift clamor sinks away 

By this calm bed ; 
And all my thought moves with the dead j - 

(Living, to-day !) 
Till through the long years, tempest-tossed, 
Those forms are hovering ; and I seem 
To know all earthly shapes a dream 
Beside your spirits loved and lost. 



Giotto uplifted once a dream 
From out his soul, — a dream so fair 
That sudden rapture of the air 
Enfolded it, and moonlight's gleam 
Froze it to marble, that it stands 
Now as a tower not built by hands. 

But reared of vision there. 

And under it does Florence brood 
On wonderful and secret things. 

73 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 



All night she dreams : and when dawn flings 
Its fire, she leaves her solitude 
And moves half- tranced through the day ; 
And dusk returns to bring alway 
Her old imaginings. 

Yet here where Michael's Titan tomb 
Strains with the sense of mastering doom j — 
Here, where the magic Lord of Line 
Leads Spring in dances more divine 
Than eyes have looked on ; — here may come 
A sudden silence, to strike dumb 
The over-gladsome ravishment 
Which beauty on the heart has sent. 
And on the deeper soul may fall 
A fear, an emptiness, a pall. — 
What do we dreaming in these halls. 
Far from the world's onrushing stream? — 
They did not sit apart and dream. 
The souls who wrought these miracles 
Of woven color and moulded stone ; 
But in the broad and noisy day 
Brought forth, that it might last alway, 
The vision each had seen alone. 
Amid a harsh and living world 
They sought no futile soft release j 
But moved within that vision's peace 

74 



ITALIAN FANTASY 



Which through each poet-brain had whirled. 

We lose our lives in maddened haste 

Of labor for unworthy things ; 

Or else, in dream- filled wanderings 

Here on thy shore the fleet hours waste. 

The sordid strain for store of gold ; 

The poets move in worlds apart : 

The days grow barren and sadly old ; 

Pulseless the nation's heart. 

Pulseless, except for common hope 

And trivial clamor in the street. 

The scholar keeps his hushed retreat ; 

The men of toil in blindness grope. 

Oh to awake the shining glory 

Once fair beneath thy skies, — 

To touch with light our modern story, 

And bring that wisdom to our eyes 

Which made the streets of Michael's Eome 

Thrill with the breath of unseen things. 

And threw on Florence like angel- wings 

The mighty shadow of the Dome ! 

Dante, where art thou ? Michael, where 1 

Teach us, amid these ancient stones, 

That vision which alone is fair, 

That beauty which for life atones. 



76 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

Yl 

Dream-girt and hushed, I turn from thee, 

well-beloved Italy. 

1 leave green Capri ; and the pall 
Where Venice's waters musical 
Wash round a spectre-peopled bier ; 
And Yallombrosa's forests sere. 

I leave those haunts most dear to me, 
Where fair Sorrento fronts the sea ; 
Or where the Peestum roses bloom j 
Or where Ravenna, veiled in doom. 
Broods on the past continually ; 
Or Rimini, whence One there came 
To light love's sempiternal flame. . . . 
Across the gray and wintry foam 
The winds are calling in my home. 
I go to them, for they are dear ; 
But when thou callest, I shall hear. 
Yea, far or near, once having heard 
Thy musical voice, that secret word 
Borne far across the barren seas 
Is light and loveliness and peace. 



76 



THE EETUEN TO AVON 

8hakespere speaks 

The lute-strings crack a little, — is't not sot 
Eare Ben is not so jovial as his wont, 
And all the rest grow stiff. We mope and mowe 
Our long hour on the stage, and tire our blood 
For pleasuring the stalls. But the hour comes 
When even blood would bear no needless freight 
Upon its currents, — pleasures nor desires e'en, 
Nor glittering dreams nor deeds. The end is 

darkness 
That scarce will cool the eye. Let it rest, then, 
In the hours of afternoon, ere darkness come : — 
Turn from the hurly-burly, not worn out, 
But pausing from the bumpers. — 

Ben will grow old. 
Spite of his rage at th' telling. Marlowe's 

gone ; — 
This many a Christmastide has lacked his face 
And flying word. . . . And still the pit will 

gape 
Stupidly on the empty boards where ghosts 
Do walk to shame the living. Last night they 

cheered 
Me, — or was it the servant who spoke — ^^ Sir, 

77 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

The lady waits without/' so bunglingly ? 
What^ had they hissed us both to oblivion, — 
What then?. . . 

Old faces go j London is lonely 
For thought of some I know. In the loud street, 
Behind all noises, waits the deep silence 
Of voices gone ; and the clamor does not pierce 
In the expectant brain as does that stillness. 
Yea, we have bruited too, and with the throng 
Made loud assail upon the hush, — even tried 
To crowd that emptiness with busy meanings. 
— And then the buskined phantoms of the day 
Slip off their robes : — and silence alone lasts. 

The meaning ? Hush ! They asked j and they 

are gone ; 
And ' t troubles them no more. The player takes 
Silence as school in the end. And all the fury 
Dies in the empty house. Wherefore ? — Go ask 
Great Marlowe's Helen, or himself, — they know, 
Perchance. For me, each actor's played his part 
Heartily round me, and I knew each one, — 
Perceived the speeches, moves, half of the heart, — 
Each player's lines, I loved them. But what the 

thread. 
The plot, and who was hero. ... — Ah, I'm dull, 
It has escaped me. — Friend, drink up your glass, 

78 



THE EETURN TO AVON 

Grasp the warm hand and build the impassioned 

play, 
Love, fight ; but question not of the greater play 
For plot: it has none. — Great! O God, its 

greatness 
Masters us ; but at close, no rounding off, — 
Not tragedy nor laughter : — just an end 
Of a tale unpurposed. There's the plotter still 
Strutting the stage, — when lo ! the fury's over 

and 
No more, lady or king. . . . 

At the end, flowers 
Seem realer than the rest, and sweeter, maybe. 
I would take ease now in a quiet garden 
Not far from Avon, where the cowslips pearl 
Grass in a shade of oaks. The labor's done. 
Not well, but as I might, since no man may 
Beyond crude measure do his work quite well. 
The silence keeps by him, and makes his voices 
Like raw cymbals. There' s something left unsaid, 
And silence says it, since we may not. There, 
Out in that garden, flowers that dwell in silence 
Know not of its oppression. I would go wreathed 
Like a child, at the end. . . . 



79 



TO SLEEP 

Thou timeless flood in which the leaves of 

Time 
Drop and are lost, — come thon to cool mine eyes 
And let thine oblivious waves meet o'er my 

head. 

For I am weary with deep weariness. 
And sorer than the thirst of starved lips 
Is thirst in me for sleep, — for sleep and peace. 
With a passion of yearning that is agony, — 
With a clutching, a horror, a whole abandon- 
ment, 
I turn toward thee ; and every nerve and thought 
Cries out for thee to come with thy cool flood 
And quench the fearful embers of my soul. 

There was a time I would have cried for 

dreams. 
Summoning the shapes of splendor and of doom 
That haunt the crowded caverns of thy deep. 
I am too weary even for these ; I cry 
Only for thee and thy vast silences. 
Thou timeless flood, — come thou to cool mine 

eyes 
And let thine oblivious waves meet o'er my 

head. 

80 



PILGRIM VERSES 



" My face is set toivard the islands and the sea, — 
To'ward dreams as old yet ne^w as the spring nvorld. 
And all my ^weariness is fallen from me 
And all my fair nvhite hope-sails are unfurled; — 
Yea, I nvill sail forth eager, strong, and free 
To Isles round ^hich the foam of dream lies pearled^ 

The Poet Yoshi. 



81 



I 



THE DEEAMBES OF DZUSHI 

The battered fishing-junks of Dzushi 
Stand out each morn into the sea. 
Each eve their lighted sails turn homeward 
Slowly and wearily. 

And from their dusky little doorsteps 

The fishers watch where longest gleams 
The sunset gold beyond white Fuji, 
And dream long silent dreams. 

A thousand sunny years have faded 

Since that which brought the fateful day 
When the ancient Dream of the Dreamers of 
Dzushi 
Eose on that quiet bay. 

But the simple fishermen of Dzushi 

Have never to this day forgot ; 
Since for one among them, the doom of the 
Dreamer 
Waits, and he knows it not. . . . 



Misty autumn lay cool on Dzushi 
After the flood of the summer rains. 

83 



THE HAPPY PKINCESS 

The beetle boomed at night no longer 
On the lighted paper panes. 

Old men wept to see the moonlight 

Falling lovely across the door, 

Calling it fairest of all the hundred 

Summers had died before. 

Young men sat by the low sand-levels 

Watching the foam-born moonlight flowers 5 
And sleep of night wove on unbroken 
The dreams of their waking hours. 

One splendid morn as the sun rose crimson 

Out of the silken blue of the waves, — 
As the fishing boats stood out past the beaches 
And foaming water-caves, — 

A maid who watched the sails grow smaller 

Under the blue dome of the sky 
Hid her face in her robe in terror, — 
Wailed, and she knew not why. . . . 

That eve the fisher- wives of Dzushi 
Warmed the rice and sak^ sweet 5 
Laid in order the fish and meal-cakes 
That none should come to eat. 

84 



I 



THE DREAMERS OF DZUSHI 

Late at night the maids of Dzushi 

Watched with fear by the silent foam 
For those who unto the sands of Dzushi 
Should never more come home. 

The cold morn rose ; and one sail slowly 
Drove toward the weary wailing place, 
Bearing a man ; and the light of madness 
Stood on his pallid face. 

And he told to the awe-hushed wives and maidens 

A tale as strange as the mad foam's bloom, 
How those who had dreamed the Dream of Dzushi 
Went to their unknown doom : — 

^^ We had sailed past the cliffs of Kdmakiira ; 

Enoshima lay on the sea's clear rim j 
When a purple cloud rose out the water, 
Glowing with fire-flakes dim. 

'^ And a pillar of light like silver moonshine 

Moved on the bright face of the deep. 
And a perfume spread as when sandal-forests 
Stir in their dusky sleep. 

^^And the cloud and the light moved out to 
westward. 
I longed to follow where they should go, 

85 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

For I thought they went to the Sea King's 
garden, 
I thought, but I did not know. 

' ' I only know that I longed to follow ; 

And from the boats a great shout rose : — 
^ We have seen the dream that our hearts must 
follow 
To where the pearl-flower blows ; 

>'<■ ^For it leads us beyond the great gray water, 

Down to the jewelled coral throne 
In the realm of the King and his foam- white 
daughter, 
Who will give us realms of our own ! ' 

^^ And the cloud and the light moved over the 
ocean. 
Behind them all the raised sails sped. 
But I closed my eyes, and with hard-thrown 
tiller 
Turned from their path and fled. 

^^They are gone with the light and the cloud of 
purple 
Along a path that I dared not go. 



THE DEEAMERS OF DZUSHI 

And I think that they came to the Sea King's 
garden, 
I think, but I do not know.^' 



Still in the sea-born town of Dzushi 

The story lingers, like some old rhyme 
In which as a vial is distilled the perfume 
And bloom of forgotten time. 

And once, 'tis said, in each generation 

A fisher must dream that dream again. 
In some one heart it rises sudden 
When the autumn flowers wane, 

That he goes, without a word of parting. 

To seek the land in the purple west 
Beyond to ocean, where waits the Sea King 
To give him flowers of rest. 

And if you ask strong men in Dzushi, 

They laugh and call it but a tale 
Woven of wandering twilight shadows 
That hour the west lights pale. 

But if you ask of the youths or old men. 
Or maids, whose eyes see more than ours, 

87 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

They tell you the long-lost Dreamers are dwell 
ing 
In peace ^mid the soft pearl-flowers. 

And many a one of them looks to westward 

And longs I know not how wistfully 
That she were one of the Dreamers of Dzushi 
In the garden beyond the sea. 



88 



THE BELOVED 

After the Japanese of Yoshi 

Cold and silver and secret, she mounts from the 

purple sea-floor. 
Slender and pale she moves through the tender 

rose of the West. 
O Moon so long belov d, O trembling secret 

maiden, 
O bride who comest cold to the flush of thy 

bridal doors ! 



89 



THE HOUSE OP THE POTTER 

I 

I do not know how I can answer you. 
It is quite simple, an you have the skill, 
To mould the hammered copper to its shape. 
The beating and the joining you have seen ; 
But just the rest, — the perfect form itself, — 
There are no words to make you understand. . . . 

One comes to think so much upon the Form. 
At night the darkness gathers into shapes 
At which the senses clutch, to tear them forth 
From boundless space which so envelops them. 
You are a painter ? — Ah, that is less hard. 
You seek the line, the color ; but I strain 
After the mass, as one who slowly breaks 
A statue free from its enfolding stone. 
The curve of the new moon, the drooping bough, 
The slanting wave, — you paint them as they are. 
But me they lead into the boundless dark, 
The twilight place of uncreated Form. 
At times I almost fear. For I must work 
In this strange land of night where all is still, 
And murky shapes tower dimly through the 

gloom 
And one might think to meet his own wan face. 

90 



THE HOUSE OF THE POTTER 

Sometimes the Master comes to watch my work. 
He himself makes, I think, not many shapes. 
But once he praised a vase that I had wrought ; 
And then with one sure change transformed its 

mould 
Into that dream which I had sought in vain. 
And as he looked into my eyes, I knew 
That he had seen the Form more clear than I, — 
That he too knew the lonely twilight country. 

n 

Yea, I am he who makes chrysanthemums. 
I think you watched me painting yesterday. 
Ah, yes. To-day I work not, for my hand 
Is not quite firm, nor do my eyes see clear : 
And then the Master wills that none should 
work. 

Indeed, our little garden is so still 
You would not guess the clatter of the street 
Went on about it in the dusty sun. 
That gold glow on the bamboos by the well, 
How soft it is ! And here beside the pool's 
Small islands and low faery promontories, 
The light is such a russet as I long 
To lay on that unfinished vase of mine. 

91 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

I do not draw tlie outlines, nor yet bend 
The slender tracery of gold and silver. 
The Master gives the pattern ; and a boy 
Snips out the tracery,— 'tis easy work, — 
Amid his shining wires, piece by piece. 
I lay the colors, — choose what grimy dust 
Out of the little piles will fuse and melt 
To pools of jewelled light around the vase. 
That cloudy blue none makes as well as 1 5 
And I have heard the Emperor has praised 
A certain yellow — like the open west — 
I laid upon a bowl that went to him. 
But more than all, chrysanthemums are mine. 
In rusty gold and smoky purple-gray 
And faintest lilac and pale sleeping white 
They range around my vases. None but I, 
And he, the Master, thus can make them rise 
Frail as at autumn's touch. 

— It is most strange : — 
The youngest and the happiest of our house 
Love best to paint the fierce unearthly shapes, — 
Great blue-gold dragons on a field of green. 
Or serpents coiling round the ocean world. 
But those less joyful turn to trees and flowers, 
The cherry and the iris and the pine. 
The commonest growths upon our summer hills. 

92 



THE HOUSE OP THE POTTER 



Once long ago in summer I too wrought 
A dragon with an emerald in his mouth. 
I thought that I should make such all my days. 
But now I paint only chrysanthemums. 



Ill 



Ugh, what know I of what goes on within 
The furnace at whose doors I have to sweat? 
They only bring their pots for me to cook,— 
To put into that fiery devil's mouth 
And burn until the gritty sand runs smooth. 
And meantime what a flood of sage advice 
They pour upon me!— As if forty years 
Had taught me nothing of my cursed art. 

But how they fear me ! For they know I hold 
The power to ruin all that work of theirs. 
A log too much, a half a breath too long, 
And it is flawed for them. And in my fire 
Is tried, before a judge who never swerves, 
The toilsome labor of their many days. 
Where is the grain of dust, the faulty flux, 
The uneven color that does not come forth 
Out of my kiln increased a hundred-fold ? 
And then the Master comes with searching eye. 
And with stern iron hammer breaks to bits 
93 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

What was rejected by the fiery trial. 
But when the flux is right, the color pure, 
And each line clear, then all the fire^s light 
Seems frozen in them when they come from it. 
See, — this is spoiled, — the fleck below the 

flower : 
But here's a vase that all will know as ours 
Wherever you may take it in the world. 

That green, — you see, — that green brings 
back to me 
A time of long ago, when night by night 
The Master sat with me beside the kiln. 
We fed the monster logs of pitchy pine 
And watched the slow procession of the stars, 
And for great fear spoke not a single word. 
Then I grew ill, and still he watched alone ; 
I do not know what dreams watched by his 

side. 
Until one dawn he came to where I lay, 
Almost recovered of my fever spell. 
And speaking nothing, held before my face 
A little cup on which the cloudy green 
Flowed like a spotless lake among the hills. 
I cried aloud and almost wept for joy : 
But he said nothing, though he looked at me 
As if the sunlight shone behind his eyes. . . . 

94 



THE HOUSE OF THE POTTER 

It is a pretty color : oh, yes, yes. 
I would not rank it higher than its worth. 
— And here they come with more accursed pots 1 



IV 

You have not seen the Master? Ah, how 

strange ! 
You thought, then, he would stand within the 

gate 
To bargain with you on his latest vase ? . . . 
— Nay, nay, forgive me. I am very old ; 
And I have seen so many who have come 
With chattering lips and prying sightless eyes 
To look at him as at a juggler's show. . . . 

He does not come among us often now. 
Sometimes he enters to the working-room 
And with a word, a look, a certain touch, 
Rekindles those who toil for beauty there. 
I, by the gate, do not look on him often. 
But sometimes yonder, by the opened kiln, 
I see him standing like a Deva King, 
His stern just iron hammer in his hand. 

Not twice a summer does he pass the gate. 
Men praise him from the limits of the earth j 

95 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

And yet he seldom leaves the little house 
Hid by the bamboos yonder in the garden. 
It is not work, I think ; for when he draws, 
The colored pattern or the outlined shape 
Grows with a swiftness unbelievable. 
A dozen days, and he could have complete 
The plans for all the sixty little jars 
That are our yearly harvest. Nay, I think 
He cannot work through all the lonely days. 

He used to be among us more than now. 
Those were the years wherein his brain devised 
The colors and the crucibles and tools 
By which our house now execute his will. 
His eyes are dimmer than they were of old. 
He moulds no more, nor blends the pigment- 
dust, 
But only weaves those mysteries of line 
And harmonies of color you have seen. 
Sometimes at night I meet him by the pool, 
Looking in silence through the silver depths ; 
Or walking slowly down the autumn paths, 
Dreaming some dream of which we cannot know. 

I sometimes think that in this quiet place 
He makes all a little like himself. 
We do not greatly care for the loud world, 

96 



THE HOUSE OF THE POTTER 

Nor praise of men. For what were all their 

praise 
To him who sees a color in his dreams 
And spends his days to bring it down to earth f 
No heart among us is without its vision, 
And is not beauty then enough for life ? 
But I have often trembled with dim fear 
To think what blinding majesty of light, 
What forms and colors of another world 
He must have seen who walks so lonely now,— 
What pathways must be open to the feet 
That pace the narrow confines of the garden. 



97 



AT ISE 

When she was dead, and the votive tablets 
Began to darken that bore her name, 

He left the cheerless mountain village, 
The hills that seemed no more the same, 

And donned the faring pilgrim's garments ; 

And turned his face toward the happy south 
Where the Lord of Summer dwells forever 

With a sunny smile on his poppy mouth. 

But his was no glad path of summer. 

No lighted meadow bloomed for him. 
He trod strange lonely hills at noontide ; 

At dusk, strange ways with shadows dim. 

Men gave him rice or fruit or sake 

Or fresh- caught fish, as each could spare. 

The rains of eve fell coldly round him j 
The dews of night were on his hair. 

Along the great Tokaido roadway 
As by some unseen tempest blown. 

He drifted 'mid the stream of travellers, 
Silent and weary and alone. 

And in the end won slowly onward, 
Less live than dead, less man than wraith, 



AT ISE 



To where in Ise's valleys moulder 
The strongholds of the Ancient Faith. 

He passed the timeless groves of camphor ; 

He passed the blessed Cleansing Stream ; 
And saw amid the sacred cedars, 

Beneath the torii's faded gleam, 

That Shrine before all others holy, 
Set in a wide sequestered glade. 

And standing at the white veiled portal 
He bowed his head and prayed : — 

^' God who art sun and earth and sky. 
My mother's heart, my father's spirit, 

Unto whose ear the priests lift cry. 
Lord of all life our souls inherit, — 

•^ Thou who art shadow over me 
And shining light around my head, — 

Give back one light to comfort me. 
Bring back one living from the dead. 

^^ I fear the labyrinthine ways 

Where in new shapes our souls are born, 
Lest she and I may miss always. 

Nor ever see the same white morn. 

99 

Lofa 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

^'Thou who art judge of all the earth, 
Who art the judged, who art the rod, — 

Stay, of the countless, one rebirth ; 

And praised be thou, the Unknown God.'' 

A thousand pilgrims came and went. 

A thousand prayers rose from the Shrine 
To Him whose eye as one beholds 

The dawning and the set of time. 

The years went by ; yet day by day 

Steadfast before the holy place 
He waited, in whose heart grew fear, 

Though trembling hope shone on his face. 

The camphor-trees are mouldering now. 

A newer greater temple stands 
Where stood the old ; and^pilgrims come 

To pray the prayers of many lands. 

But as last night I walked the grove, 

I heard before the temple stair 
A voice that trembled on the dusk 

With hopeless passion of faint prayer: — 

^^ Shadow and light around our heads, — 
Thou who art judge, and judged, and rod. 

Who are the living ? Who the dead ? 
Who art thou, thou Unknown God? " 

100 



MUEAMADZTJ 

A mouldering Buddha sits as warden 
Beside the ruined mossy gate. 
He must be rash, or strong with fate, 

Who mounts unbidden to this garden. 

The pine and cypress intertwining 
Cover the lotus-pool with shade. 
But where the ancient graves are laid, 

A dreamy veil of sun is shining. 

I do not know what shapes are here, 
Nor why the sun so strangely shines. . 
It is a place of ruined shrines. . . . 

The distant wind is all I hear. . . . 

What secret makes this place beguiling 
I know not ; nor what visions lost 
Stir like a frail forgotten ghost 

While Buddha's lips are faintly smiling. 



101 



THE POET YOSHI 

" To his Songs " 

The many shall never know you. 

But few shall hold you dear. 
In the deserts of earth where I sow you 

You shall fade with the fading year. 

You shall feel dark skies above you 

And learn the lonely lot, — 
Till you come to a heart that shall love you j 

And the rest shall be forgot. 



1 



102 



KOBO DAISHI'S FIEE 

When Kobo Daishi lit that fire 
Whose sacred flame is burning still 
Where Miyajima, hill by hill, 

Lifts from the waves to one gray spire, 

He saw upon the sunset sky 

A cloud-shaped dragon gray and gold 
With scales along each monstrous fold 

And eyes that glimmered balefuUy. 

And as he looked, the moving air 
Changed it and moulded in its place 
A downcast pious trader's face 

With lips that seemed to stir in prayer. 

Then the Great Teacher turning spake : — 
^^ Full many times this shape shall come. 
Stealthy or rampant, loud or dumb, 

And many forms its soul shall take. 

^ ' Though as a trader mild it move, 
Or as a power to make you free, 
Or bring you strength of land and sea, 

Ye shall not give it aught of love. 

103 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

"Let no gate open to its wiles. 

It feeds upon all sweet content j 

Kor will it stay till it has rent 
The ancient peace that makes your isles 

"A place where each man can fulfill 
His individual life with days 
That lead through simple natural ways 

Where deep unrestfulness is still. 

"The dragon gives the vaunting boast, 
The longing for un-precious things. 
When you have grasped what gifts he brings, 

Then shall you know what you have lost.'^ 



Still burns, but low, the sacred fire. 
Its shrine, though ruined, rises still 
Where Miyajima, hill by hill. 

Lifts from the waves to one gray spire. 

But the Great Teacher might not wait 
Whose words so warning were of yore. 
The sunset burns along the shore. 

The dragon hovers at the gate. 



104 



BEFOEE THE BUDDHA 

From the poet Toshi 
Yea, Buddha, Teacher,— Buddha, Lord,- 

Before thy calm and silent face 

I also bow me in my place 
And strive to hear the sacred Word. 

Even as thou, in days agone. 

Hast seen the pallor of all things, 
So I have learned that seeking brings 

No joy that may for life atone. 

So I have seen the tangled plan 
Of life and death which vain desire 
Weaves with an all-pervading fire 

Around the weary heart of man. . . , 

Yea, having seen through all my days 
No thing but changes and goes by, 
I find none worth my agony ; 

I turn unto thy silent ways ; 

And deem that it enough shall be 
Justly to live, nobly to dream, 
Firmly to rule what soon shall stream 

To thy unfathomable sea. 

105 



BUDDHA AT NADIKA 

And Buddha came to where the sea 
Curled silver-white upon the land, 
And murmurs of infinity 

Breathed on the sand. 



And there lay shells like rosy foam 

Borne from the caverns of the deep, 
Frail playthings drifted from the home 
Of timeless tideless sleep. 

And on the sand a Fisher stood. 

Drying his nets that late had seen 
The silent caverns of the flood 

And all the wastes between. 

The Fisher lingered in his place 

With countenance of mild surprise, |fl 

And looked upon the Buddha's face 

With dumb uncomprehending eyes. 

And Buddha spake : ^ * Thy nets are drawn, 

Thy boat rocks idle on the sea, 
Thy day turns westward, and is gone. . . . 
Come thou with me.'^ 

106 



BUDDHA AT NADIKA 

The Fisher marvelled, — ^^I must toil 

With nets and shells among the caves, 
To win the sea's unwilling spoil 
From the harsh waves.'' 

And Buddha answered : ^^ Cast no more 

Thy nets upon the troubled sea, 
Nor gather shells along the shore. 
Come thou with me. 

^^ Thou drawest shells and curious flowers 

From out the blue untrodden caves. 
Thou seest the passing of the hours. 

Thou hearest the clamor of the waves. 

'^Thou openest the shell where lies 

The pearl more white than driven spray. 
And trackless past thy vision flies 
Each passing day. 

^' But I will teach thee not to stir 

The shell nor flower in its sleep. 

For thou shalt roam the sepulchre 

That chasms all their native deep. 

'^ And vain desire, like terror grown 
Deep in the chambers of thy breast, 

107 



I 



THE HAPPY PEI:NCESS 

Shall be from thee forever flown, 
And thou shalt rest. 

^^ No search for pearls shall blind thy thought, 

Nor waves, with clamorous harmonies. 
But in the silence where is naught 

Thou shalt behold the One that is. 

^^ And where thy days now speed like foam 

Across thy vision, there shall be 
For thee a vast eternal home, — 
An Infinite Sea.^' 

The Fisher looked on Buddha dumb, — 
Looked deep into that tender gaze, — 
Those eyes within whose depths had come 
And gone the sorrows of all days. 

He looked uncomprehendingly, 

And wearily he shook his head j 
And turned once more to drag the sea. 

Knowing not what the Buddha said. 



108 



THE OLD CALL 

When our northern streets are dumb with 

sullen cold 
And the brightest hearthfire somehow fails to 

cheer j 
When you feel the tragic passing of the year, 
And the world you know seems worn and sad 

and old ; — 
Then turn from where the spirit's youth is 

dying?— 

Breast the night, the stars, the wind, the break- 
ers' roar ; 

Follow questionless that word the heart is 
crying 

Till it brings you to the sun-hills of Johore. 

Leave the city j turn you inland 
Past the line of tree-fringed shore. 
Where the snow-white herons ponder. 
Blinking, poising at Johore. 
And the white clouds pile to eastward 
And the clean hot sunshine lies 
Like a fire along the landscape, 
Bringing glow to weary eyes. 
Sun-floods make the blood beat fuller. 
Pour their lightnings through your brain ; 

109 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

Let you throb with wave and river, 

Stir and sleep with palm and plane. 

And the storms march up in columns 

From the shining Indian Sea ; 

And at night the heat-glare flashes 

Instant bright on cloud and tree. 

Deep the green, — oh, never deeper. 

And the crimson flowers flame 

Through their leaves like Nature's day-dreams. 

And you dream, till whence you came, 

Where you go, are severed from you 

And your glad soul fain would soar 

Where the white doves whirl and circle 

Through the sunshine of Johore. . . . 

Go you hence and lift your burden j 
Tread the path that has been set. 
Leave the sunshine, leave the sea- wind, 
Leave the palm-trees, and forget. 
— And forget ! — Except when June winds 
Stir the pulses of the world, 
And a longing thrills the tree-trunks. 
Thrills the leaves but half uncurled ; 
Comes and whispers at your window 
When the morning dews are wet ; 
Breathes upon your weary forehead 
When the green-gold sun has set. 

110 



THE OLD CALL 



I 



It will reach you in the northland, 

It will touch you though you die, 

It will draw your heart's unutterable core 

Through the night, the stars, the breakers, 

To the sun, the heron's cry, 

With the calling, calling, calling of Johore. 



Ill 



ON A PEESIAN TILE 

Where would you ride, O knight so bold, 
Decked in your youth's glad panoply? 

In robe of rose with thread of gold, 
As for some gallant holiday ? 

Do you not know that long of old 
Your Shah's great pageant moved away? 

And still you ride your prancing steed, 
And still your laughing eyes are bright. 

Is it because you have small need 
Of aught save of your own delight 

That you remain while empires bleed 
And turn to shadows down the night ? 

I love you, and I know not why. 

I have passed by the loftier face 
Of a king stern in majesty, 

And of a poet. To your place 
I come. You only could not die. 

But ride and ride with old-time grace. 

And it avails not that I tell 

To you how all your pomps are fled j 
That lovely eyes you loved so well 

112 



ON A PEKSIAN TILE 

Long since have joined the weary dead 
How all your lords and princes fell 
And over them the flowers are shed. 

laugher in the face of Time, 

O you who linger down the years, 
Eternal in your eager prime, 
Lord of mortality's dim fears, — 

1 wonder, does your heart not pine 
Sometimes for boon of human tears ? 

Would you not wish, if wish you could, 
That there might sometime come a day 

When you could doff your merry mood 
And weep a little for the clay 

To which has turned your princes' blood. 
To which your ladies stole away ? 



113 



THE DEVIL DANCEES 

A Thibetan Folk-song 

The shrilling Devil Dancers came 

With shuffling feet. 
They called upon you by the name 

That was so sweet. 
With great ghost- daggers in their hands 
They wove a spell 

Whereof they said, not Hell 
Nor Heaven itself could loose the bands. 

. . . And was it well ? 

Like some great ghost who heaves and spills 

The shaken ground, — 
Like a thunder- demon of the hills 

They would have bound 
You who were wont beside my bed 
To bring me peace 

Which alone gave release 
From terrors that, since you were dead, 

Never could cease. 

The grinning Devil Dancers came 

With shuffling feet. 
They said, — ^^It is a thing of shame 

That now so sweet 

114 



THE DEVIL DANCEES 

Should seem a ghost that weaves you bands 
Of some vile spell. ' ' 

And they cursed by Heaven and Hell 
With the great ghost- daggers in their hands . . . 

It was not well ! 

Since then I watch awake all night, 

But no one comes. 
The stars pass and there breaks the light. 

The thundering drums 
Of the Devil Dancers rise and fall 
As the dawn grows ; 

And on the wind that blows 
Down from the heights comes the keen chill 
call 

Of the changeless snows. 

And I have come at the far white call j 

And now I stand 
Here where the mountains' rocky wall 

On either hand 
Stretches away to west and east, 
Snow-peak on peak, 

Till the senses would grow weak, 
Were it not that here I must stand as priest 

With all to seek ! 

116 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 

Here the Devil Dancers cannot come. 

— I will seek, and find ! 
On these breathless snows all things are dumb 

Save the wind, — 
The wind that came from this haunted height 
Only to tell 

That what not Heaven nor Hell 
Could loose, I can loose, in the plunge to- 
night. . . . 

And it shall be well ! 



116 



THE CITY OF AMB^E 

Perhaps it was on such a day 
That, ceasing in his loving thee, 

Thy splendid Eajah went away 
Amid his golden pageantry ; 

And left thee for the rains to gray 
With winds for all thy company. 

Thy carven balconies are bare, 

Nor princesses now lean from them. 
And never more their garments' hem 
Sweeps through thy halls. Ah, never there 
Shall sunlight gleam upon the hair 
That was thy loveliest diadem. 

And on thy battlements the word 

Of armed men is wholly dumb. 
And dumb the sweet ring of the sword. 

And for a guest who does not come 
Thy gates stand open, — for the lord 

Who long ago passed out therefrom. 

The gray ape clambers in the sun 

And laughs like madness on thy walls. 
At dusk the proud blue peacock calls 

117 



THE HAPPY PRINCESS 



And plumes his feathers one by one. 
And lizards timorously run 

Through the pale moonlight of thy halls. 

Thou knowest not. A dream is thine 
Of that great day when in his state 
Thy Rajah passed the valley -gate 
With gold- decked elephants a-shine, 
With all the life that warmed like wine 
Thy courts and galleries of late ; 

And down the crowded causeway bore 
Thy blood, thy life, away with him. 

— What was the look that then he wore 
As passing o'er the valley's rim 

He turned from thee to come no more, 
And left thee to thy twilight dim ? 

Amber, no man shall fathom thee. 

Some mystery of ancient pain 

Is on thee. Though thy splendors wane, 
Thou seemest not ruined utterly, 
But waiting till his pageantry 

Return to make thee glad again. 



118 



\^ 



THE WILD DUCK 

A Japanese Frieze 

The heron rises and circles, 

The wild duck steadily flies 
Past the shadowy lake and marshes 

Toward the yellow western skies. 

The ripples murmur and travel 

Outward in golden lines. 
A wild duck flaps from the marshes 

And rises over the pines. 

Shadows sink on the woodland 

Mistily deepening more. 
A wild duck flies toward the sunset. 

A wild duck lifts from the shore. 

I am lone in this land of marshes ; 

I wander its silent streams, 
Where I hear but the wild duck calling 

And see but the yellow gleams. 

Dark comes on the quiet waters, 
The pine-trees sink in haze. 

119 



THE HAPPY PEINCESS 

Only tlie west is lighted 
With ruin of many days. 

Only the rushes murmur 

On the water's mirror breast, 

As a wild duck hovers and turns him 
Toward the open silent west. 



120 



BEAHMA 

Whoso desires, or joys, or weeps 
For whatsoever things may be 

In life between the gulfs of sleep, 
Knows not the fashion of the Three. 



Brahma am I, and Vishnu too, 
And Siva ; — maker, savior, flame 

Of ruin. — Can thy mind then view 
Me who am Three and still the same 1 

I shatter cities in their might 

And shape soft flowers of their clay. 

I break the hundred towers of night 
To build therewith the dome of day. 

Brahma am 1 5 I shape all things 
Whereof the wisest mouth can tell 

I fashion from the mould of kings 
The butterfly. And it is well. 

Vishnu am 1 5 it is my will 

The stone should lie where once it fell, 
The sun still shine to warm the hill. 

The heart still hope. And it is well. 

121 



THE HAPPY PEI:N"CESS 

Siva am I. With scathing fire 

I sweep the worlds like wind of Hell. 

With all its web of vain desire 
Creation falls. And it is well. 



Think you I do these for my sport ? — 

Each flower that blooms and buds and dies 

Draws from the deep well of my heart 
A flood of unguessed agonies. 

But thus through courts of starry space 
I who am all, who am the Three, 

Cast on the dark of Time and Place 
The light of mine Eternity. 



122 



APfi 8 1907 



